


Tea Before Sleeping

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age gap relationship, Anal Sex, Art Included if u follow link :3, Catholicism, Fantasizing, First Time, Forbidden Attraction, Large Age Gap Relationship, M/M, Modern AU, Priest!Uther, Religious themes/setting, Teacher/Student Dynamic, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Arthas shows up at Uther's doorstep with a pile of unmarked quizzes and a beam in his eye.**NSFW Art included at link in endnotes!!! <3**
Relationships: Uther the Lightbringer/Arthas Menethil
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Tea Before Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO I am absolutely stoked to share this work actually has some art inspired by it, which can be found at the link provided at the end of the fic (To avoid spoilers lmao). 
> 
> Art was drawn by the wonderful [Badbadtime](https://twitter.com/badbadtime?lang=en/) on Twitter, when I mentioned what inevitably happened less than 15 mins after the plot of this story finishes. badbadtime introduced me to this ship (improving my life about 200x over in the process) and is a huge inspiration to me, so please send them love <3

Uther filled the kettle, snapped the lid shut, and set it down on the front left hob of the stovetop. He shuffled to the cupboard, pulled it open, and rummaged around for the packet of biscuits he was pretty sure he had stashed there, somewhere near the back. The sound of the TV carried from the other room, an unfamiliar voice chattering over his thoughts, but he supposed that was probably a good thing – he didn’t want to hear what his conscience had to say, right now.

“I only have oat cookies,” he called over his shoulder, inspecting the package he had plucked from the shelf to see if he could spot a best before date. The tiny black numbers said they had passed it three months ago. He decided Arthas probably wouldn’t notice.

“Whatever,” Came the reply.

Scrunching his nose, Uther reached for the jar of teabags on his countertop. At least brewing tea at the end of the day was a familiar comfort, in the midst of an evening that had taken a strange turn. He found the whole process reassuring, even though he had to use one more cup and one more tea bag than usual.

Uther wasn’t usually the sort to have guests over. Even if he was, his home on the collegiate campus wouldn’t really have accommodated for it. A narrow suite of rooms attached to the boarding house, the parsonage had stood on this site since the school was erected two hundred and thirty years ago. On nights like this, when it rained hard and blustered so fiercely that the aged glass windows shivered in their frames, Uther could feel every single day. He was thankful that the old masons and builders who erected the cottage understood the value of a large fireplace.

Once the kettle was boiled and the tea was poured, he tucked the biscuits under his arm and slipped back into the loungeroom to attend his guest. Arthas had appeared at his stoop as the day yielded to the evening, bearing a stormy expression and a rain-soaked stack of student quizzes tucked under his arm. His hair had hung dripping down his back, turning his rumpled white shirt transparent, but out of shear stubbornness he had refused to towel it even though Uther had passed him one when he stalked inside. As Uther entered the lounge, he found him sat there with his feet on the couch. His hair hung over the arm and the cushions, bleeding rainwater in dark splotches onto the carpet below. He didn’t even turn his attention away from the TV, when Uther’s shadow filled the doorframe.

“Did you dry off?” Uther asked him, setting the tea and biscuits down on the coffee table and glancing at the still folded towel sitting beside the fireplace. Seafoam green eyes turned to his when Arthas responded.

“It’s fine. The fire is warm.”

“You’re ruining the carpet.” Uther said, his irritation concealed beneath a steady voice. Arthas’ eyes fluttered, the closest he was going to come to acknowledging this was probably true, before they turned away again to fix back on the TV. Uther noticed that the marking he had brought with him was sitting on the coffee table expectantly, the ink beginning to run across the dampened paper. He sighed.

“You want me to mark those for you I suppose?”

Arthas nodded, without looking away from the screen.

“Yeah, thanks.”

God, give him strength.

Uther gritted his jaw and sat down beside him, batting his legs aside to make enough space. Once Arthas had rearranged himself, and replaced his bare feet in Uther’s lap, Uther picked up the pile of marking and dug a red pen out of his pocket.

Uther had been doing this for twenty years. He never would be caught dead without a red pen on his person. Arthas, however....

Arthas had been a Teaching Assistant at the collegiate for less than three months, and whatever the opposite of a vocation was? That was more or less what Arthas felt this job was to him. The only reason he had even gotten the role was because his father had wanted him to do something, anything at all, after his graduation - Arthas hadn’t been bright enough to get into University in the traditional fashion, and his sporting prowess lay in dressage, and dressage alone. This would have been well and good, if he was the sort of person capable of competing with other riders for equestrian scholarships, but Arthas had been a bit funny with his horsemanship since an unfortunate incident involving a ditch, and his favorite mount. Uther had advised him against joining the military, and Arthas had outright dismissed the possibility that he go to seminary school, and so after months of deliberation he wound up here again, on Uther’s couch.

No matter how old he got, it seemed Arthas would always be his problem.

Resigned, Uther marked the quizzes, while Arthas sat and watched the evening news. Although it proved to be simple enough, Uther still found it difficult to mark with Arthas’ feet resting in his lap. As he drew closer to the bottom of the stack, his irritation compounded like layers of nacre on an ugly, misshapen pearl. Eventually, it peaked with a heavy sigh, and an irate little click of his tongue against his teeth.

“You know,” He said, “if you hate this so much that you’re making me do your work, you _can_ just tell your Father you don’t want to do this job anymore. Maybe look for work somewhere that isn’t at the school?”

Arthas scoffed at that, and turned his full attention to Uther again.

“No?” He said, Haughty expression of disgust etched all over his face. Uther huffed, but did not argue with him.

He supposed that was the end of that.

Arthas really could be obstinate sometimes. It was his worst trait, on par with his cockiness, his impulsivity, and his pride. Uther was always lenient with him, though, supposing that in a way it was just a crooked expression of his deepest insecurities. He didn’t know _why_ Arthas might be insecure, any more than he knew why he gave the man such liberal benefit of doubt. Aside from being overly sensitive and less book smart than his peers, Arthas certainly had enough positive traits. Though he dropped his pleasantries when he was with Uther, Arthas displayed a wealth of natural charisma. He was easy to look at, he was well spoken, and he was exceptionally skilled at feigning compassion, even in regard to matters he felt no sympathy for at all. When he was around other people, his wry, almost playful facade held great sway, and Uther had noticed that he had a certain knack for enchanting people to do anything for him regardless of how dubious his requests might have been. Unfortunately, Uther was no exception to this - if he was, he certainly wouldn’t be doing his marking. Uther had always thought that he was fairly adept at hiding his weakness, though, so it always came as an unpleasant surprise when Arthas conveyed that he _knew_ how much power he held over his former mentor.

He had been conveying it far more often, recently, as panic at the prospect of adulthood began to grasp him. Nowadays, Arthas acted out more recklessly than he ever had as a teenager. He was more argumentative, more insolent, and his usual smug grin had been replaced with a surly scowl. If Uther didn’t know better, he might have thought that Arthas was acting out to get validation or reassurance, but Uther had spent enough time with Arthas to understand that he probably didn’t know why he was being such an asshole lately. He simply wasn’t capable of that much self-awareness, and was likely too distracted by the realisation that he would be turning twenty, in a few weeks' time.

Uther, to put it plainly, felt sorry for him – when he was twenty, his own terror had led him to theological college, and yes, he had had a good life because of it, but after so many years he wasn’t sure how he even felt about that, anymore. He had _thought_ he was at peace with things, and if anybody asked he would say he loved the choices that had brought him to this place, but Uther, too, was aware that he was getting older. He was starting to question his future, as well. A part of him was glad that Arthas wasn’t leaving yet, because he didn’t have a clue what he might do with himself once the young man was gone, and whether it was because he was just as terrified or because he felt pity for the child Uther softened his attitude towards him now far more than he ever had before.

A few marked quizzes seemed like a small price, to ensure his favourite student wouldn’t go away.

He finished the marking, and set the tests down on the table with a sigh. Arthas glanced up, an eyebrow arching at the sight of the neatly organized stack. With a curious look that Uther couldn’t make sense of, he asked him to pass him his cup of tea.

“It will be cold now,” Uther told him, but he did as he was asked, before reaching for his own cup and taking his first sip. Sure enough, he found it lukewarm. Arthas’ took a gulping mouthful of his, and made a dismayed noise.

“Gross,” he said bitterly. “Do you have anything else?”

“I don’t.”

“Uh huh.”

Arthas grimaced as he drained his cup, before setting down it on the coffee table corner. They receded into silence, and in an effort not to focus on the weight of Arthas’ body on the sofa beside him, Uther turned his attention to the movie which had just begun playing after the news.

It was a surprisingly comfortable way to spend an evening.

The hour was early, but the premature dusk brought on by the storm made it feel much later than it actually was. The movie was some Hallmark production - a distinctly family-friendly, even mind-numbing, affair. The heat from the fireplace made the loungeroom cosy, and a pleasant sense of sleepiness drew over them. Uther watched as Arthas began to doze, slumped in the corner of the sofa, and he thought with a fluttery little twist in his guts that he did look painfully sweet, even delicate, in rest. His chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, his hair shone muted gold in the flickering firelight. Idly, Uther caressed the tops of his feet, indulging in the rare opportunity to study ( _touch_ ) him while those full, bowed lips did not twist into a sneer. He thought that he would like to do so more often - he really was quite lovely to look at…

It wouldn’t do to look at him forever, though. The night was beginning to wear on, and he knew he would have to rouse him soon to send him back home. Uther could hardly carry him to the headmaster's cottage in the sleeting rain, and even if he could he wouldn’t have wanted to, but his hesitation made him realise that he didn’t exactly want to wake him up, either. It took Uther the better part of an hour for to work out what to do; ultimately, he decided to wake him because once the first film had finished, and another less enjoyable one began to play, he wasn’t able to change the channel without disturbing his company.

Tentatively, Uther cleared his throat. Arthas didn’t budge. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, and with a crooked finger tickled the arch of one foot nestled in his lap.

Arthas jolted upright with a short expletive, and Uther actually laughed at the look of shock on his face. It wasn’t very often that Uther found a reason to laugh out loud.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Fuck off,” Arthas flushed. He drew his feet up, out of reach, and tucked them away under himself. Uther stopped chortling, and composed himself again.

“You should go home now,” He said steadily. “I’ve marked your quizzes, and it’s almost eight o’clock.”

Arthas pursed his lips at that, eyes sliding away to look to the mantle above the fireplace. There wasn’t much on it, save a photo of Uther with a few of his friends from seminary college, and a framed icon of Mary holding the baby Christ.

“Let me stay here, sir.” He said, and Uther’s brows furrowed to hear him use the title he had dropped, since his graduation. He chalked it up to a simple force of habit – Arthas had called him that for twelve years of his life, after all. “I really fucking hate staying at that cottage. I’d rather just have my room in the boarding house back.”

“What’s wrong with staying at your fathers? All your stuff is there, right?”

“Mmm. But my room is tiny, and miserable, and dark. I have no privacy there, the walls are like paper, and the internet is limited. I dislike having someone come by and tell me when I ought to go to sleep.”

He looked as though he could’ve kept going, if he was allowed to – like he had compiled a whole list of grievances he could air, should Uther ask for further elaboration.

“You have no privacy at home,” he asked instead, “yet you will willingly stay at my place?”

“You’re not my family.” Arthas replied. “And you know when to mind your business.”

Well, that was probably true enough.

“I don’t have a spare room.” Uther warned.

“I will sleep on the couch.”

He sounded like he had made up his mind long before he had appeared on Uther’s doorstep. Uther couldn’t help but be suspicious that there was something else going on here, as well. Had he squabbled with his family, before he had come? Perhaps exchanged words with his parents about how some day, when _he_ was principal (and yes, Uther was aware that his father really did expect his son to follow in his footsteps someday) he wouldn’t be able to procrastinate grading assignments to the night before he was supposed to hand them back to the kids?

Whatever.

Uther sighed, and decided it wasn’t worth arguing.

“Ok Arthas. Please yourself.”

It wasn’t as though it would turn out to be any kind of disruption.

…

Uther was disturbed by a sound through the darkness, a muffled knock that might have been from outside, or might have been from somewhere in his dreamscape.

“Uther?”

Arthas’ voice though, however muffled, was definitely very much real. Uther groaned, his sheets rustling as he rolled over to peer at the dark shape suddenly filling his doorframe.

“Huh?” His voice was low and thick with sleep. He could barely make the young man out, in the thin silvery light that permeated the darkness.

“Can I come in?”

“What?”

Uther was too confused, too recently woken, to process what was being asked of him.

“Can I come- oh, fuck it.”

Arthas decided for him, slipping into the room and closing the door in his wake with a gentle click.

“Move over,” he said, crawling onto the end of Uther’s bed. It was a double, purely because the antique bedframe which came with the house was a double, and Uther was broad enough that he found it slightly too short and a little bit cramped even for just himself. He knew having another body in in was going to be a problem, even if he only knew it in the bleary, half-conscious way of someone interrupted during sleep.

“What are you doing?” He complained, rolling over and making room for Arthas to crawl between his sheets.

“What do you think?” Arthas told him, and Uther sucked a sharp breath to feel his skin, icy cold, pressing against the warmth of his own.

“ _Why?”_

 _“_ This house is cold as fuck. I almost froze to the sofa.”

This sounded like it could be the truth. The heat from the fire had likely dissipated quickly, and the storm had only worsened as the night wore on. In Uther’s bed, beneath clean sheets and several feather duvets, he was warm and cosy. The blanket he had given Arthas, however, was threadbare and probably extremely inadequate.

Oops.

“You can get another blanket from the linen cupboard.”

“But I’m here now.”

Arthas settled against the pillow beside him, so there were only mere inches between their faces. In such proximity, Uther could smell his hair, and his aftershave, and the faint mellow note of his sweat. Though his body was cold, Uther’s felt like a furnace had been lit in him.

“Don’t you dare tell your father,” He said stiffly.

“About what?” Arthas shuffled closer, sinking into his body heat, and the skin on Uther’s shoulders prickled as he moved to coil his arms around his neck.

_What is he doing?!_

“That I let you share a bed with me?”

Arthas scoffed at this.

“I’ll just tell him you fucked me then.”

“Excuse me?”

And then, as though he thought it was an answer, Arthas reached for his face and held his cheeks and kissed him dead on the mouth.

God. Arthas was kissing him. Uther thought his heart might stop in his chest.

When Arthas pulled back, He slid their noses together, hesitating long enough for Uther to swallow a deep, dizzying breath.

“Consider yourself excused,” he said.

“Don’t do that!” Uther whispered, though it came out in a low, long hiss.

“Why not? Didn’t you like it?”

“Of course not!”

“Swear before God then, sir, that you didn’t like it, and I won’t do it again.”

Oh, that demon. That terrible, arrogant, disrespectful, petulant little _monster._

Uther had to swallow a lump in his throat.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it anymore than he could tell God he _didn’t_ want to fuck him.

Uther had hidden it so well, so carefully, that even he hadn’t known his heart for the longest, most blessed span of time. Coming to terms with how badly he had wanted Arthas had hurt, like having a thorn removed from the meat of his hand hurt, and the dull-sharp knowledge of his own depravity throbbed like a splinter thrust deep into his soul. Arthas wasn’t always the brightest, but to Uther he was the sun, and since that fateful day Uther had noticed how he coiled a lock of hair around his finger when he was thinking, Uther had been forced to face the fact that their time as equals had cast him in a whole new light. Their time as equals would be the thing that damned him to his very own corner in hell.

Uther just wasn’t able to overlook way Arthas made coffee in the teachers’ lounge at break, anymore. Wasn’t able to dismiss the way he flouted the policy on cutting or tying his hair back, because it didn’t apply to him any longer. Even the way he swore like a sailor, because he knew that Uther couldn’t give him detention for it, made Uther wild, and his anger came bound with a deep ache that he could only really describe as desire of the worst, most carnal variety.

Arthas, after all, was a taste of the reckless. He was the dark, and the unimaginable, and his body cast the shadow of allure that Uther had always scorned, until now. The emptiness that multiplied in the man, as he confronted the void of his future, was the absolute opposite to everything Uther had been taught to value, and it was so easy to lose oneself in the same way it was easy to feel fascination with the macabre. Uther longed to see him destroy himself, and fantasized about protecting him endlessly, because nowadays Uther was subject to some kind of terrible saviour complex. It made him long to offer his hand, as Arthas dangled over the abyss.

His heart caught as Arthas tried to kiss him again. He could feel the fate of his eternal soul teetering on the cusp. Should he catch him? Should he indulge him? How sorely did Uther want to help break his fall?

He resigned himself to knowing, when he met the kiss with fervor, that nothing he could do would really matter, anyway - Arthas was basically fucked, regardless, because he was young and because he was selfish, and he would take what he thought he wanted with relentless force. Uther could allow him to have his sinful way with impunity, let him burn like an angel flying too close to the sun, because whatever happened Arthas was on the road to ruination. Uther thought that it would be selfish of him, not to join him on his quest.

He followed the directives from his loins, pushing Arthas over and moving between his legs like he has visualised doing a thousand times before. All those times, he had been hesitant, tucked under his blankets at 2 am and only in the moments when God was blinking, and couldn’t see him. In those stolen seconds, Uther thought of Arthas, and in the seconds he was witnessed he thought of all those promises he made so long ago, that he would stay virtuous and resist the temptations of the flesh. In those days, though, the flesh pressed against him now didn’t even exist. This thought made his stomach turn over, even as Arthas arched up against him in a primal, needy plea for his touch. Uther’s hands fumbled to Arthas’ waist, his thumbs hooking under the band of his underpants, and it was almost painful how easily his shorts slipped down over the slope of his ass to reveal his nakedness beneath. Uther’s mouth found the line of a slim, stately neck, he dropped short kisses against his skin. He drunk in the scent of his hair like fresh snow, and the water that ran clean through glassy glaciers, and brooks. The house creaked around them, as though tightening its grip on their coupling, and the old bedframe rattled beneath the understated motion of their bodies coming into contact.

Arthas was surprisingly sweet like this, keening softly as Uther sucked his clavicle. His pliant cock rubbed coyly against the lower part of Uther’s belly. Uther could have listened to him forever, feeling him twist and hearing his voice catch, but he didn’t have the opportunity because suddenly, Arthas was pushing him away, and stumbling out of the bed again into the cold.

“Wait here,” He ordered, hurrying to the bedroom door and wrenching it open. Uther hardly had enough time to register he was gone, before he was back again. He slammed the door shut, and tossed Uther a small plastic pump bottle he had clutched in his hand.

“What is it?” Uther asked, squinting through the dark and trying to read the label.

“Lube,” Arthas told him.

“Why do you have-“

“Why do you think?”

He crawled back into the bed and leapt into Uther’s arms, and Uther decided he didn’t care that much whether Arthas had been planning this or not. At least it meant he knew how to do it – something Uther wasn’t sure he would be able to work out, while improvising.

Arthas was pushy, as he always was, urging Uther to lick his chest while he prepared himself. Uther obliged him without question, cock aching in the same way it had when his resolve was so much stronger than it was now, and he had refused to lay a hand on himself no matter how sorely he might have wanted to. At the time, it had seemed like a boundary he could draw, a perimeter of virtue between his failure as a man of God and a mentor, and as a human being with flesh and desires that surged through his corporeal form. Now though, it seemed just as laughable as the guilt that clawed at him, when Arthas spread his legs and invited him in. The grasp of a body was _so_ much better than the nervous, unpracticed grip of his own hand.

Arthas seemed to just unfurl around him, moaning loudly as though he had wanted this at least as long as Uther had. Maybe longer. Uther’s mind was racing too fast to think about the implications, the disbelief which cast the scene into a strange, fuzzy focus. In the weak light which leaked around the edges of Uther’s curtains, Arthas looked glorious. He pulled Uther over, so he could recline against the pillows, and when Uther started fucking him with slow, exploratory movements, his head tipped back and those full lips parted. His voice melted into a delicious sound of ecstasy. Bliss.

“ _Fuck, y_ our cock feels perfect.”

Uther almost lost his grip on himself, then, his balls seizing, his stomach flipping, and the hot hand of release paused just short of grasping his muscles tight. He froze, and Arthas let out a low growl.

“Don’t you dare cum,” He warned. “Christ, imagine shooting your load the minute you get the tip in me.”

“I won’t,” Uther told him, even though Arthas was a tilt of his hips away from making him a liar. “I want you to work for it.”

“Y _essir_.” came the response, and Uther had to bite down hard on his tongue. How many times has Arthas said that to him before?

Arthas allowed him a moment to settle, before pushing him over again and sitting astride his hips. Uther could feel the wild talent he had for riding, in the way he rolled against him, directing the tight, hard grip of his thighs either side of his legs. Even in shadow, it was easy to see Arthas' stomach was taught, and cut by core muscle. His hair swung loose over the planes of his shoulders, and hung almost to his waist. He was incredible, Uther thought deliriously. Beautiful. Divine. His body was hot, and the ideal amount of tight, and he shuddered when he tilted his pelvis just so because when he did, Uther’s cock pulled over the sensitive knot buried just inside of him.

“Oh my god, you feel so _fucking_ good, sir.”

Sinful, surely, more sinful than anything Uther had ever done, but God what sweet sin it was. The kind of sin a man like him might die for, over and over and over again. Uther griped his ass, pulling and pushing him, trying to bury himself deeper, harder, and more. Arthas' breath came in shallow, loud gasps, a hand lurched forward to press against Uther’s chest. His hair fell forward again, a smooth curtain tickling Uther’s stomach, and Arthas leaned in and kissed his throat, and against his ear he whispered something dirty and unforgiveable. Something that Uther knew he would take with him to his grave.

“ _Uther.”_

Uther was roused by a foot, knocking hard against the side of his face. He jumped, yanked out of one world and thrust into another, and Arthas laughed a short, cold laugh.

“Are you okay, sir? You sounded like you were having a heart attack in your sleep.”

He dropped his foot, back into Uther’s lap, and the first coherent thought Uther had was wondering why the _fuck_ he had decided to wake him by kicking him in the side of his head, of all things. As he adjusted, taking in the familiar scope of his living room, he remembered that Arthas had come over this evening for help with his marking. They had watched a movie. He had said something about wanting to stay the night, and sleep on the sofa.

“... What time is it?” Uther asked, and he realised with a grim twist in his stomach that he was short of breath.

“I don’t know. Like nine thirty? Why?”

Arthas was looking at him funny, expression slightly mocking, and very self-satisfied. Uther felt his cheeks darken under his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“No kidding.” Arthas tilted his head, struggling to contain the smirk that was threatening to split his face. “You’re a... rigorous sleeper.”

Hew nudged his toe against the bulge in the front of Uther’s pants. The contact throbbed in his balls, even as he felt a weight like a rock drop into his guts.

“Cut it,” he said, shoving his feet away. “don’t touch me.”

“You sure?” Arthas arched an eyebrow.

“Y _es,_ I’m sure! What’s wrong with you?”

Arthas shrugged.

“I’m out of tea,” he said mildly. “Could you make me a new one?”

“If you have too much caffeine you will be up all night!”

“Oh no.” Arthas’ eyes locked with his, resolute and intense and so, so pretty. “How unfortunate.”

The fiend didn’t even know the half of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Art [here](https://privatter.net/i/5748278) (Links to privatter, enter password confirming you are of legal age to access - Capitalize first letter)
> 
> I didnt want to spoil the ending lmao. Thank you so much Badbadtime for allowing me to share this here!!


End file.
